


Firebrand, The

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e11 The Leadership Breakfast, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-03
Updated: 2004-02-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Karen Cahill explains the events ofThe Leadership Breakfast.





	1. Firebrand, The

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**The Firebrand**

**by:** Seshat

**Character(s):** Karen Cahill, Donna  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Humor, Post-Episode (The Leadership Breakfast)   
**Rating:** PG  
 **Disclaimer(s):** Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, et al.  
**Summary:** Karen Cahill explains the events of TLB.  
**Spoiler:** _The Leadership Breakfast_  


A few months after I started working for the New York Times, my editor called me into his office.  "Karen," he told me, "People don't like you.  I've received more irate letters and calls concerning your articles in the past two months than I've had about any columnist in the past two years.  You've been called a bitch more often than Millie the dog.  And your co-workers say that you have an incendiary personality."

I took it as a compliment.  Luckily, in addition to getting everyone's hackles up, my columns had also led to a significant increase in circulation; so my editor was willing to overlook the fact that I tended to make people around me nervous.

Let's be realistic here.  Reporters in general are not the best beloved people in the world.  Ideally, our job is to expose the truth, which sometimes involves revealing the seamy side of things, not exactly a line of work that the public finds endearing.

Quite frankly, I agree that a lot of reporting these days is tawdry and gauche.  I shake my head in chagrin at some of the items deemed "newsworthy."  And while I am proud to say that I have never written a word that I did not consider to come from a reliable source, I recognize that many writers are not as scrupulous.

But the truth can often anger people just as much as fabrications, and it's always been my policy to put things bluntly.  I don't sugarcoat my columns, and I haven't gone out of my way to make friends.  I make no excuses for my abrasive personality.

It's far more interesting to be antagonistic and see where the chips fall.

My father used to call me his firebrand because I would stir up fights at school, and I suppose I haven't changed much in the ensuing years.  But I like to think that people respect me even when they hate my guts.  I have a reputation for brutal honesty that pisses off those weasels who can't admit to their own faults but is grudgingly valued by those who matter.

Take, for example, the senior staff members of the Bartlet administration.  These are people that I can admire.  On the whole, they are very intelligent, more so than many others who have served in their posts.  And let me tell you, I have some stories... but I digress.  What I meant to say is, I would never admit it in public, but I like them, whereas I have no use for some of the idiots who run this country.

Leo McGarry is one of the few politically savvy men in government that I respect (I exclude Jed Bartlet when I refer to politically savvy men in government because, while I find him to be a man of deep integrity, brilliance and compassion, and a born statesman, I believe that without Leo, he is a political naïf).

Toby Ziegler... whenever I think of Toby I am reminded of the saying that cynics are, at heart, disillusioned romantics.  He projects this dour personality, this perpetual gloom, but I suspect that his frustration stems from the conflict between his lofty ideals and his recognition of harsh reality.

I've often thought that CJ Cregg would be a good friend to have.  She's smart, she's got this wry sense of humor, and she's held her own in a male dominated world.  I know something about that.

Last, but not least, we come to tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum of the West Wing.  Not that I'm saying Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn are by any means less than capable, well-educated, clever men, but I get the feeling that I catch them in an extraordinary number of their less than stellar moments.

Now don't take my wickedly smug grin the wrong way, I really do like these guys, but it makes me want to laugh when I see them tripping (literally in Sam's case) over their feet when they see me coming their way.  Of course, laughing would probably diminish the "fear of Karen" that I have managed to instill, so I force myself to contain my amusement and fix them with withering stares.

I guess you could say that this habit of mine of provoking people led to what can only be called a comedy of errors.  Forgive me if I caused some anxiety to innocent people, but believe me, it was highly entertaining from my position.  Oh, how I love to stir things up.

*****

It all started innocently enough with a short conversation.

I assure you that on an ordinary day I am not sensitive about my apparel.  I could give a damn whether most people think that I am well dressed.  I have never had any ambition to be an emaciated fashion plate whose sole purpose is to act as a clotheshorse.

But I really did love those shoes.  They were Ferragamo.

Okay, so the men out there are probably going, "Huh?"  Ladies, back me up here.

Normally I don't indulge in extravagant purchases, but I wanted, for once in my life, to own a pair of vintage Ferragamo shoes.  And I didn't want them to be average, sensible, bland pumps that could have been made by any generic company; so I bought a pair of heels that were a lovely shade of crimson, which matched this power suit of mine.  They were sling backs with a slightly squared toe and small diamond buckles.  I loved those shoes.

I think anyone will understand that I wasn't thrilled when Leo asked me, "Karen, did you knock off the Wicked Witch of the West, or did you just ambush Dorothy on her way back to Kansas?"

Let me repeat, I like Leo McGarry.  In fact, over the years we have developed a friendship of sorts (in the world of politics and journalism it's rare to find any friendship that doesn't have certain levels of antagonism as well as affection); suffice it to say that we had the type of relationship in which he tolerated my prickliness, and I put up with some of his grumbling about reporters.  I sent him a note when I heard about his separation from Jenny; I liked the two of them and was genuinely saddened to hear that their marriage had fallen victim to politics, like so many Washington relationships.

All of this back-history is by way of explaining that he doesn't take my column personally, and believe me when I say that I've written some valid and biting criticism of Leo and the Bartlet administration in the past; and I don't usually take offense when he makes fun of me or makes genuine complaints about the idiocy of the media.  (I too find some of my "colleagues" to be lacking in the brain department.)  You learn to shrug it off.

But he insulted my shoes.  My Ferragamos.

"Did you just make fun of my two thousand dollar shoes?"

"You _paid_ _two thousand dollars_ for a pair of shoes?"

That was not the right thing to say.  And I think Leo inferred from my expression that he had just committed a serious verbal faux pas.

*****

Honestly, I didn't stay annoyed for long.  Leo was just being... Leo.  Oh, I knew that he thought I was really upset; but I didn't bother to ease his conscience since having a high powered politician worried that you, a journalist, might retaliate, often works in your favor... which is another reason why I like to have people be slightly afraid of me, along with my general fondness for conflict.

So, when I saw Sam Seaborn approaching me at Ben and Sally's dinner, it took a minute for me to remember Leo's comment and connect it with the apprehensive look on Sam's face.  The poor dear looked like a sacrificial virgin about to throw himself into the volcano.

I swear I tried to play nice, keep the malicious gleam out of my eye.  I even nodded encouragingly as he apologized for Leo.

He apologized quite nicely.  He smiled charmingly and delivered an eloquent little speech that I only half-listened to since I wasn't very angry in the first place and I was appreciating how pretty Sam looked.

I think he was feeling good about the fact that I hadn't yet given him the famous glare because he kept talking instead of beating a hasty retreat as I had expected he would.  In fact, he started on some spiel about the former Soviet republics.

"So you see, the Islamic extremists..."

I just continued nodding and admiring how he looked all dressed up.  He really is a very pretty man.  Those chiseled features, the dark hair, the blue eyes with that childish enthusiasm.

"...and with the nuclear weapons in Kyrgyzstan..."

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

Did he just say Kyrgyzstan?

Oh, well, I wasn't really listening anyway.


	2. Firebrand, The 2

**The Firebrand**

**by:** Seshat

**Character(s):** Karen Cahill, Donna  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Humor, Post-Episode (The Leadership Breakfast)   
**Rating:** PG  
 **Disclaimer(s):** Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, et al.  
**Summary:** Karen Cahill explains the events of TLB.  
**Spoiler:** _The Leadership Breakfast_  


* * *

Have you ever found that situations have a tendency to spin out of control even when you don’t encourage the chaos?

Maybe it’s just that I have trained everyone to fear the wrath of my pen, but I suddenly found half of President Bartlet’s senior staff at my mercy.  And it was completely unintentional on my part... well, almost completely.

First there was Leo feeling guilty over an apparent insult.  Then there was Sam, who fears me in general.  So who was next?

I found out last night when a tall, attractive, familiar looking blonde approached me in the middle of the South Street Exhibit.

"Ms. Cahill?"

I recognized her as Josh Lyman’s assistant, but I have often found that it puts the other person at an immediate disadvantage if you force them to introduce themselves.  I put on my polite yet frosty smile.  "Yes.  And you are-"

"Donna Moss?" she filled in, sticking out a hand for me to shake.  "Josh Lyman’s assistant?  We met at that thing a few months ago?"

"Of course."  My smile became warmer.  But I didn’t for a second believe that her running into me was a coincidence.

Luckily for her, Donna knew that trying to hoodwink me was not a good idea.

"Ms. Cahill-"

"Karen."

"I’m sorry?"

"Call me Karen, Donna.  I promise I won’t bite."

Donna tucked her hair behind her ear and started walking with me down the hall.  "Karen, I came here at the behest of Sam Seaborn."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"He’s afraid of me," I informed her.

"Yes."

"I’m not quite sure why."

"I think it might have something to do with the fact that you have a reputation for cutting politicians to shreds."

That brought a smile to my face.  I liked this woman.  She wasn’t beating around the bush.  "Only if they do something I find stupid or objectionable."

"Well... I think that Sam thinks that he acts stupid when he’s around you."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"The tripping thing?"

"Yes. Plus..."

"Hmm?"

"The dinner other night?  At Ben and Sally’s?"  She rolled her eyes and drolly said, "Sam Seaborn was being so cute.  He was talking to you and he thinks he may have said Kyrgyzstan when he obviously meant Kazakhstan."

I could tell from her voice that she was issuing a direct quote.  Have I said how much Sam amuses me?

"Let me get this straight," I said, "Leo asked Sam to approach me the other night to apologize for insulting my shoes.  And now Sam has asked you to approach me to ask if he made a verbal slip?  I never knew that I wielded this much influence over the men of the West Wing."

We shared a chuckle at their expense.

"Actually," Donna continued, "he didn’t."

I gave her a puzzled look.

"Leo didn’t ask Sam to approach you.  He asked Josh.  Josh delegated to Sam."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

An interesting tidbit to file away.

"Tell Sam... tell him I wasn’t really listening."

"Okay."  She grinned, and we resumed walking and conversing.

It was rather pleasant.  I think I can put Donna up there with CJ as women with whom it might be nice to be friends.  But I have a feeling that any ability of mine to make and keep friends will always have to battle my insatiable urge to make trouble.

Donna had walked ahead a few paces when I noticed some pale material coming out of her pant leg.  With her next step, the material shook out and onto the floor.

And that’s when I realized, dear God, it was her underwear.

My first instinct was to quickly cover it up so that no one saw.  I am not entirely inhuman, despite what some of the subjects of my column have said, and I realized how mortifying it would be to Donna if other people saw her underwear lying there in the middle of the exhibit.  I actually had a similar experience when I was in college, although in my case it was a bra hanging out of my shirt and I caught it before I left my apartment building.  So I really did sympathize.

I quickly stuffed the garment in my purse and continued like nothing had happened.

*****

It was while sitting at my desk this morning that I came up with the intriguing idea.

I had originally had every intention of returning the underwear to Donna.  It hadn’t seemed right last night to just say, "Bye.  Nice seeing you again.  By the way, you dropped your underwear."

I was going to look up her address and send it to her home.

Really. I was.

So Josh hadn’t wanted to apologize to me for Leo.  Interesting.

I wouldn’t want people to think that I was some cruel person who arbitrarily decided to humiliate this woman in front of her boss just for kicks.  Let me give you a little background on the relationship between Josh Lyman and his assistant, Donna Moss, as is rumored among certain Washington circles.

I will say off the bat that there has never been any evidence of impropriety.  In fact, it seems quite likely that neither one is entirely aware of the "thing" between them.  (Yes, I am a professional writer, all evidence to the contrary.  I would defy John Steinbeck to adequately explain that particular relationship.)  But the stories I have heard from those close to the Deputy Chief of Staff have caused me to reach certain conclusions; conclusions that touch the buried streak of romanticism that is hidden deep below my hardened cynical shell.  So did I take pity on the poor clueless couple?

I blame it on my wicked sense of humor.  A chance to aggravate Josh Lyman.  How could I pass it up?

What started as a relatively innocent comment by Leo had suddenly snowballed into an opportunity to raise a little hell in the West Wing.

I meticulously addressed the envelope and pondered what I would say in my note.

Not that a note was necessary since Donna had so helpfully provided me with a pair of personalized underwear.

This is finally what I decided upon:

"Josh-

These were dropped in front of me last night at the South Street Exhibit.  I think you will recognize the owner.  Hell, maybe you even recognize the underwear.  Please return them for me.

Karen

P.S.  Of course, if you’re too embarrassed to do the deed, you could always just keep them for yourself."

Ooh, sometimes a person can have too much fun.

*****

I was sitting on my couch at home, musing over what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when Josh Lyman opened that package, when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"I correct myself.  You didn’t knock over the Wicked Witch of the West.  You _are_ the Wicked Witch of the West."

"Hi, Leo."

"What are you doing to my people?"

"You know," I remarked, ignoring his indignation, "I meant to tell you the other day, the Wicked Witch of the West never had the ruby slippers.  She was the one who followed Dorothy around, cackling, ‘I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too.’  I would also like to take this opportunity to point out that in the original book by L. Frank Baum, the shoes weren’t even red, they were silver."

"Karen..."

"Yes?"

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you."

"Hmmm."  I pretended to consider for a moment.  "Yes. Yes, I am."

"All because I made a comment about your shoes?"

"They were _Ferragamos_ , Leo."

"Whatever that means," he muttered.

"And I think you should know by now that I just like to make trouble."

He sighed.  "Yes, you do."

"So did Josh come to you to straighten things out?  That’s poetic I think.  This all starts with you, and the cycle comes full circle."

"No.  As a matter of fact, your little circle came to include even more people.  Josh gave the underwear back to Donna who went to Charlie to ask the President to explain to you that Donna did not mean to make a pass at you by dropping her underwear in your path."

At this point I was chuckling uncontrollably.  "Donna thought I would take her gift of underwear as a sexual advance?"

"Yes."

Tears were literally in my eyes.  "Oh, Leo," I managed to wheeze out between laughs, "Your staff is too precious."

"Would you quit laughing?"

"Now that I think about it, The Wizard of Oz really is an appropriate metaphor," I continued, "Sam is the Scarecrow, tripping over his own feet. Donna is the..."

"If I promise to buy you a new pair of shoes will you stop making a mockery of my people?"

He was irritated, but I knew he saw the humor of the situation.

"Ferragamo?"

I could tell he was remembering my two thousand dollar shoes.

"Ferra- whatever," he said dismissively.  "If it will keep you from toying with the minds of my staff like the harpy you are."

I grinned.  "Done."

"Okay, then.  I actually have issues to deal with that do not concern, you know, shoes, Kazakhstan or underwear."

"The breakfast?"

"I can’t-"

"Leo, off the record, I’m sorry.  I got the feeling you guys were ambushed there."

He was silent.

I felt bad about leaving the conversation like that.  "But on an interesting note," I added, "Did you know that the L. in L. Frank Baum stands for Lyman?"

Before he could respond, I hung up.

Too bad I couldn’t write an article about the whole incident.

Like I said, it can be rather fun to stir things up and see what shakes out.


End file.
